“You accuse me of being a sailor’s doxy when you offer no better yourself? You shame yourself as well as me. As irregular though it is, Kit and I are legally married. He also loves me.”
Samuel slumped back on to the couch and made no move to approach her. “And what of you, Cousin?” he asked, his voice cold. “Just two months ago, you would have professed your love to me in a heartbeat. Perhaps I am not the only one who is fickle.”
Sophia found the brass doorknob, cool and solid, under her hand.
“This conversation is too little, too late, Samuel.”
Finally, the man stood, his face red. “You ungrateful sow.”
Sophia ignored the insult and took a deep breath. “Goodbye. I’ll see Laura before I leave and arrange for my luggage to be collected.”
She shut the door behind her knowing it was not the only one to close this day.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sophia stood by the desk and brushed her hair in long, even strokes while Marco poured the last bucket of steaming hot water into the tub. She felt embarrassed and nervous. When Kit next saw her she would be different. She had accepted the fact she was a bride, as unconventional as her courtship had been. But by tomorrow morning, she would be a wife in more than name only.
She had an academic understanding of what went on between a man and a woman. She had seen naked men and women. Not in the flesh, of course, but in marble and decorating friezes. She was even aware of frescos showing men and women in acts of congress. She had heard conversations spoken of marital duties but none of the specifics – it would surprise many men to learn what women discussed in the genteel drawing rooms while they indulged in cigars and brandy.
The sinking sun threw everything in the cabin into sharp relief; it seemed every surface that faced the sun was cast in rich bronze.
The unreality of her situation dawned on her. She had made a conscious decision to leave her family. Any lingering feeling she had for Samuel evaporated completely this afternoon. Her heart belonged to Kit without question, but there was so much she didn’t know about him.
She jumped as the cabin door opened. Kit hoisted the trunk from his shoulder to the floor where it dropped with a bang. All of her worldly possessions. When she looked up at him, there was a small comfort in seeing he looked as anxious as she did.
“Did you wish to bathe? Should I leave?”
“Stay with me.” Sophia knew she didn’t have to do this; she could tell Kit she was not ready, and he would understand. Yet, when she recalled the times he kissed her, and how her body responded… She wanted to feel it again.
He stood before her now and her eyes travelled up his form. When their eyes met, she saw a flare of desire in them. She had the same response when he danced the flamenco, and she wondered what he looked like naked. She presented her back to him and swept her hair over her shoulder, silently asking him to release the buttons of her gown.
She felt the pearl buttons of her dress slip one by one and closed her eyes. The fabric loosened around her bust. Sophia crossed her arms to hold the dress to her shoulders as the final few at her lower back released.
She felt the warmth of his fingers through the thin cotton of her chemise. She lowered the dress down and stepped out of it. She turned around for his verdict.
His eyes swept over her and then across the neckline, where she knew dark nipples showed through the cloth, and then down to the outline of her thatch of nether hair.
He lowered himself to a stool and removed his boots and stockings before standing to unbutton his breeches, first one side, then the other, two buttons each. As they came down, she glanced away but, when she looked back, he was still dressed in his shirt and drawers.
“Nervous?” he asked.
Sophia nodded.
“Dance with me.”
“What?”
The very notion of it seemed ludicrous. She shook her head slightly but paused when she looked at Kit’s face. Suddenly, she saw a man much younger than the commanding captain. Surely he couldn’t be afraid?
“Dance with me,” he entreated. “You’ve done it before.”
“Not in my underclothes I haven’t.”
“Then pretend.”
One part of her wanted this to be over. Sophia hated the unknown. Afterwards, she could judge whether this was all folly.
“We don’t have music.”
“Yes we do.”
Kit navigated the darkening cabin with ease, finding his way in the dark to light a few lamps. He opened the cabinet and pulled out a superbly carved music box inlaid with mother of pearl. When he opened it, the box glowed with the lamplight shining on the brass inlaid inside. Kit pulled out the key and wound it up.
Inside, the cylinder rotated and the first notes sounded of a beautiful tune plucked by the steel teeth. There was barely enough light to see, so Sophia concentrated on what she could feel – the strength of Kit’s arm around her, the warmth of his right hand in hers, the touch of his body as he led her in the simple dance. Their bodies touched, then moved away, and then grew closer and closer until his body was fully pressed against hers. The music box stopped but the music continued in her head. Kit kissed her lightly on the lips and face. She lifted her face to his and kissed the sensitive lobe of his ear while his lips and tongue lavished kisses on her neck.
Fabric bunched in his fists at her back, and she felt her legs bared. Tentatively, Sophia reached around his waist and felt the heat radiate from his bare back as she spread her hands across his flesh.
They undressed each other fully between raw open-mouthed kisses.
“You’re so beautiful, my bella, and there are so many ways I want to make you feel what I feel when I look at you.”
Sophia took a step back. She had called him an Adonis, but marble could not compete with the reality of flesh and blood before her. The statues in the museums and out on the digs could not prepare her for the reality of an erect male. The appendage that sat neatly against a nest of curls in stone now stood long and proud, much larger than she thought it would be.
She licked her lips nervously at the sight of it and Kit groaned.
“Our bath is getting cold.”
“Our bath?” she inquired, her voice barely above a whisper.
“We’re married. We share this now – a name, a life, a bed… a bath.”
Sophia allowed her hands to be taken in Kit’s as he led her to the tub. The water coming up to her shins was pleasant, lukewarm. They stood closer now. One of his feet positioned between her own.
*
Kit bent down to scoop up water cupped in his hands. He poured it over her shoulders and watched it run down her form. Her lips parted. Her reactions were genuine and unguarded. The fact he was bringing them to her for the very first time did something to him.
The act of love became fresh and new. He tried to recall a moment he had ever felt like this. He could not. There had never been another time like this one. The dark shadows of his past hurt and shame disappeared, and all Kit could do was be here, in this moment, where his entire world centered on the woman in front of him.
He ran water-slicked hands up her flanks, over her hips and the curve of her waist; his thumbs touched the undersides of her breasts and travelled across her nipples, which puckered at the caress. His hands rose higher and cupped her cheeks. He kept them there, wishing only to look at her, this woman, his bride. Her heavy-lidded eyes opened, fathomless pools reflected love and desire back, and he was humbled.
He took her hands in his once more, then dropped down to one knee and bent his head over her hands.
“Your servant.”
He kept his hands there, supporting Sophia’s weight as she knelt with him.
“My husband,” she whispered. “My lover.”
He kept his eyes closed, afraid for a moment that if he did not, the prickling he felt behind his lids would reveal tears he did not want to shed.
“I love you so damn much, Sophia. I…”
> “Show me.”
He rose at her whispered encouragement and brought her up with him. He reached blindly for the sponge and trailed it through the water until it reached her calf. He was determined to take his time as much for his sake as hers.
There was something both delightful and perverse in forcing himself to go slow. There was the mastery over his body, which wanted nothing more than the satisfaction of its own release, but he tamed it to concentrate on pleasuring his wife.
The hitch in her voice as the sponge edged nearer to her sex aroused him more, as did the sigh she made as he touched the side of her ribs. He watched her face, fascinated by each expression. He learned her body. The way she would shift as he brushed across her breasts fascinated him.
He stepped closer to kiss her soft, full lips. He pressed the sponge to the hair between her legs and slowly moved it in circles. Her eyelids closed but her mouth opened. His arousal grew, his body restless. The need for release became more urgent.
She stopped his hand with a grip harder than he imagined she possessed. Her eyes had lost a little of their dreamy quality, replaced by a look of determination.
*
Sophia took the sponge from his hand. And, as he had done, she plunged it in the water. Boldness filled her. If he was free to touch her that way, then she, too, was at liberty.
With her left hand trailing her right, she ran her hands across Kit’s chest, delighted to see his nipples tighten as hers did. Her fingers traced the muscles of his arms, magnificently sculpted. The thought of those arms around her quickened something inside her.
She ran her hands down the hard planes of his chest, the sponge drifting lower, past his hips when his hand stopped hers.
Suddenly, Sophia was in his arms, skin to skin for the first time. Kit leaned down to kiss her. Sophia poured her heart and soul into it and became aware of nothing more than his mouth on hers and the clean, fresh, unmistakably masculine scent of him, until she felt the mattress at her back.
She waited while he climbed in beside her, propping himself on one hand while the other traced light patterns across her breast, her stomach, moving lower until it reached the junction of her legs. He teased her, rubbing a thumb softly back and forth, building such an exquisite sensation. She closed her eyes and gave in to the pleasure of it.
She was conscious of it brewing like a storm. Her body keenly felt the anticipation and opened itself to the pleasure beginning to swell. She panted as though she could outrun the pleasure. Heat filled her breast, Kit’s mouth warm upon it, his tongue teasing.
So much sensation! Her gasps turned into groans. She reached for him, wrapping her fingers through his hair to keep him close while he made her other breast heavy and ache as its twin. Below, Kit’s fingers touched and probed, and she felt her sex swell and blossom.
The storm broke. A pleasure unknown to her radiated from her core, and her back arched with the magnificence of it.
Before she knew it, her legs were entangled with his and Kit’s erection slid across her thigh. Sophia’s legs instinctively opened to him knowing this was what she was waiting for. She moved her hips across his hardness, her now sensitive sex awakened to him, wanting more.
“There is so much more I want to do to bring you pleasure, bella…” he whispered to her ear, sending gooseflesh along her body.
“You already have.”
Kit shifted over her, his legs settled between hers while his hands cupped her face.
“My male pride is gratified,” he said with a grin. “There is more yet. A small amount of pain, then more pleasure, I promise you. Wrap your arms around my neck.”
She did as he asked. She kept her eyes on him and noticed the sweat beading at his forehead as he entered her gently, then withdrew. The feeling was one unlike she had never experienced. He entered a little deeper this time and she raised her hips to bring more friction. He entered her again and stopped then pushed hard. She inhaled sharply and sunk fingernails into Kit’s back until the pain subsided. She could hear Kit pant hard as he held himself immobile. She kissed his temple and soothed the marks she had made on his back.
He began his rocking movement again and, this time, it was all pleasure as he entered her again and again. She squeezed him instinctively with her inner walls. He cried out before smothering her face with kisses.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Kit woke with a start. He reached between the mattress and bed for his knife before he was fully awake to what was different. Sophia’s head lay on his shoulder, an arm draped across his chest.
He breathed out, not wishing to wake her. He released the knife and drew the hand around to stroke her fingers. Today was different. Quite obviously. He was married for a start, and there was a naked woman in his bed – but no, there was something different about him.
He felt full – and it wasn’t just his bladder. He’d once likened himself to a tree, living on the outside but hollow in the center. Now he felt whole.
It is not good for man to be alone.
One of Elias’ sermons came back to him. Kit had been alone, and he had been for so long he no longer recognized it. The hollowness he thought he would have to bear was gone. He was not much of a praying man and knew little of the Bible other than what Elias read out to the men on Sundays. But he knew when to be grateful and he was, indeed, thankful to the Divine Providence who gifted him the woman beside him.
In the early morning light, he could see the cabinet and the leather-bound journals of those he rescued. The voices that accused him of being too little, too late, were muted now, but still they reminded him there were others still desperate for rescue. He extracted himself from Sophia’s arms and rose from the bed. He kissed her cheek. She murmured in her sleep, but did not stir.
He relieved himself before washing and dressing quickly. He would leave his bride to rest.
Dawn spanned a veil of rose pink across the dock. He made his way along the deck, climbing each mast and examining the rigging – a habit from his very first command.
He trusted his men, and he trusted his ship, but there was something intimate in touching each spar, the lines of rope making up the shroud, the sturdy canvas of the sails.
From this vantage, he could see Palermo come to life. Farmers with wagons of fresh produce made their way down the hills into the city itself; carters left the trawlers with barrels of freshly caught fish; cockerels crowed from various parts of the city, awakening it.
He clambered down and approached the bridge. Giorgio was examining the barometer and noting it in the log. Kit slapped him on the back.
“How goes the watch?”
“Quiet,” he said, putting down the pen. “It’s always quiet when we’re in dock. When are we getting back out to sea?”
“Soon.”
“Sorry, Captain, I don’t mean to be taking you away from your honeymoon. You’re a married man now like Jonathan and, well, the men and I were wondering what the future of the Calliope is to be.”
“Nothing will change. Not on my account.”
Both men turned to the sound of Sophia’s soft voice.
She finished climbing the gangway and handed Kit a mug of dark, sweetened tea. She was fully dressed. Her hair was in a simple braid that rested over her shoulder.
“Some of the people you rescue – the women and children – they may want to talk to a woman. I want to be there as you rescue the captives of the Corsairs.”
She was so appealing in the sunlight he might have given in to her. But he wouldn’t. She would stay on Catallus with Professor Fenton to dig around to their hearts’ content amongst the ruins, safe from the dangers of a battle at sea.
But there was time enough to tell her – when he was a nautical mile off the coast and safely away from the heat of her temper.
“We’ll leave for Catallus three days from now. Giorgio, tell the remaining crew they have shore leave for the next two days. I expect to see them back here sober and ready to sail.”
“Aye, Captain.” The cook grinned and bowed broadly. “On my return, I shall reclaim my galley and prepare Signora Hardacre a feast to celebrate our newest shipmate!”
*
“You keep staring at me,” Kit said.
Sophia blushed and looked to the horizon.
“I wouldn’t mind so much,” he continued, “except I can never be sure what you’re thinking behind those beautiful brown eyes of yours.”
When she looked back, his attention was on adjusting the sail on the skiff. He was a beautiful looking man. It was strange to think of him in such feminine terms, but it suited him – his white shirt, open at the neck, stretched taut across his shoulders, golden blond hair ruffled in the breeze as he expertly maneuvered the craft through the small chop.
Apart from last night, this was the first time she had been completely alone with him – this man who was her husband and yet, in many respects, still a stranger.
Sophia rubbed a thumb at the underside of her wedding ring. Judging by the tales told by his crew during their voyage to Sicily, it was as though Kit’s life had begun only ten years ago.
True, hints of a darker, more painful time before that were easy to glean from the tales of other people in those journals in his cabin, but he never spoke of them.
Should she ask? Or should she let him choose when or if to share his past? What of his family? Perhaps she should ask Elias first. Or would that be disloyal?
A wry smile crossed her face. Who knew being a wife had so many questions?
“You’re doing it again. You’re having entire conversations in your head.” He smiled, so she smiled back.
“I’ve been so used to keeping my own counsel for such a long time, it’s been a habit to answer my own questions in my head.”
“Are there any you’d like to share with me?”
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